


Limits

by Fudgyokra



Series: Kinktober 2018 [3]
Category: DCU (Comics), Green Arrow (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Cock Worship, Consensual Underage Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Drunken Shenanigans, Father/Son Incest, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mentioned RoyDick, Multiple Orgasms, Nastiness Ahead, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Premature Ejaculation, Prostate Milking, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 21:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16206485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: Though the gestures made Roy’s gut ache with guilty desire, he’d learned his lesson a long time ago that what he wanted was off-limits.





	Limits

**Author's Note:**

> My third fill for Kinktober! This is probably one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever written jskdhaksd don’t @ me. Seriously, though, please mind the warnings!
> 
> Day 6: Daddy* | Corset | Cock Worship* | Biting

Over the years Roy lived with Oliver Queen, he’d never seen him drunk until tonight. Truth be told, he hadn’t known the man was capable of it. Some bizarre hero complex, mixed with the suspicion that he could box God if he wanted to, kept him from thinking of Ollie as a man; more of a machine. Except, of course, for the nights when he _did_ think of him as a man. Private, intimate nights spent locked deep inside his own head. Those thoughts were vulnerable, and he wouldn’t let them see the light of day if he could help it.

Wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Ollie was so high-strung and angry with him all the time, nitpicking and harassing as a father would. Though the gestures made Roy’s gut ache with guilty desire, he’d learned his lesson a long time ago that what he wanted was off-limits. Permanently.

If he said he didn’t still consider it, he’d be lying. Often, he thought about how in two years’ time he’d be eighteen, and maybe then…but no, he wasn’t a fool. He knew Ollie was too good for that. For him.

That’s why when the man wandered into the games room while Roy was playing pinball, he didn’t even look up. Their relationship had been like that ever since he became a teenager: One of them talked, the other ignored.

It wasn’t until Oliver hadn’t said a word for a full minute that Roy dared a glance. His mentor wore sweats and a white tee, meaning he wasn’t bothering with patrol, and he had a beer in his hand, which only enforced the idea. Roy lifted his brows but made himself turn back to his game. “I didn’t think you drank,” he said. Then, to rile him up, added, “Think I could have one of those bad boys?”

Ollie snorted. “Cute,” he said. “But no dice.”

Roy resisted the urge to roll his eyes, lest he lose sight of the ball. “What do you want?” he asked after another minute, when Ollie hadn’t made a move to leave the room or to properly speak with him.

“Just watching you play. You’re good.”

“Thanks. Lots of practice.” _For money_ , he remembered, but kept that part private. “Don’t you have some decrepit old man stuff to be doing?”

“Now, that’s no way to talk to your father, is it?” Ollie asked with a huff of a laugh that made Roy’s lips curl. Decidedly, he didn’t dignify that with a response.

The lack of conversation couldn’t exacerbate the deafening silence with the dings and clicks of his game in the way, so he had to take a moment to thank his lucky stars for that. He had a feeling Oliver knew he didn’t think of him like a dad, but he didn’t want to have that conversation with him when he was potentially inebriated. He didn’t want to have that conversation with him ever, actually.

After a while, Ollie shuffled closer, taking another swig from his bottle in the process. When he was done, he flung it into the trash bin at the other side of the room with expert marksmanship. Roy couldn’t help but snort at the showiness. He might have said something had the man not approached from behind and settled his hands squarely on Roy’s hips.

He slapped the right lever on the machine so hard in his shock that the ball ricocheted off the side and landed straight in the gutter. “Hey…” he said, frozen in place. “If you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked.”

“Y’know, you shaped up to be a fine young man,” Ollie said idly as he traced one hand up the other’s back.

He was rubbing between his shoulder blades when Roy’s eyes instinctively fell closed. Still, he managed to give a strained, “Uh, thanks,” just before his game beeped to remind him of his time limit. “You’re—don’t mess me up, man.”

“No promises,” Ollie said. Goosebumps prickled Roy’s arms. If it had been anyone but _him_ , Roy would think he was _flirting_.

When he couldn’t think of anything clever enough to shoot back with, he clamped his lips together and refocused on pinball. It wasn’t easy, not with Ollie pressing him forward; there was hard metal biting into his hips and the man at his back, definitely too close to be considered parental.

Suddenly it was a little hard to breathe.

“I’m serious,” Ollie said with a chuckle. “When I found you, you were just a squirt. You’ve toned up a lot since then.” Pointedly, he ran his hands up and down Roy’s arms, squeezing at his biceps, rubbing circles into his shoulders. “Better be careful around town. Pretty little bird like you’d get snatched right up.”

Roy wanted to be offended, but he couldn’t make his brain work, least of all his mouth. So, what came out instead of the insult he wanted was little more than an unimpressive, “Oh?”

“You and that friend of yours, both. What’s his name? The Bat’s kid?”

“Dick,” Roy said. A nervous flush steadily inched from his face down his neck.

Ollie hummed in acknowledgment as his hands continued roaming across Roy’s body. One even snuck underneath his shirt, and by that point he toyed with the idea that this was some vivid hallucination. Another one of his dreams that materialized too realistically in his fucked-up head. “Yup, that one. How is he these days, anyway? I assume you two are still in touch.”

“Um, yes,” Roy croaked, white-knuckling the machine he was forced up against. “We do. He’s…fine.”

“You two always _were_ close. I was convinced you were fooling around with each other.” He laughed like it was a joke, but Roy knew better.

“That’s none of your business,” he snapped, turning redder as he stared down into the blinking lights of his abandoned game. The timer ticked by, second after second, urging him to continue. Reluctantly, to regain some of his earlier clear-headedness, he launched another ball and tried his best to be attentive.

“But you did, didn’t you?” Ollie persisted as he worked at Roy’s belt. “I wouldn’t blame you. Handsome guy like that.” Soon, his hand was down the front of Roy’s pants, groping him through his boxers. His breath came out stuttered, and he found himself leaning forward the slightest bit without meaning to, bracing himself against the machine.

Oliver chuckled breathlessly and followed him forward, chest to back. When he spoke, his tone was hushed. “You can tell me,” he encouraged. “You can tell daddy anything.”

Roy sucked in a noisy breath. “We—no, we didn’t. We didn’t do _that_ , I mean.”

“No shame in a little kiss here and there,” he suggested, fishing Roy out of his shorts and grasping his shamefully hard length in his palm. His hand was absurdly huge in comparison to Roy, who, despite his muscle, was pretty tiny everywhere. Growing up on the streets didn’t make for very good physical development.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “A little bit of other stuff, too.”

“Ahh,” Ollie said like he’d hit the jackpot, “I thought so.”

Roy did his best to ignore him. He thought about how angry he’d be when he was sober, either with himself or with Roy, and decided he couldn’t risk this. Not here, not now. He refocused on his game, remaining as silent as possible even as his breaths came out shakily through parted lips.

But then he was being masturbated by a hand that wasn’t his own, and his resolve crumbled with an audible gasp.

“Look,” Oliver said like a commandment, prompting Roy to obey and stare down at the man stroking him. Right after, he felt the scrape of a beard against his jaw, and he moaned softly without meaning to.

“It’s so pretty,” Ollie said, his voice hushed and his breath fanning across Roy’s cheek. “My boy’s cute little cock.” Roy bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, if only to stop himself from moaning again. God, he was depraved. What was wrong with him? If anything, that should’ve been degrading, but… “I bet it tastes so good. Nice and sweet like you.” That was a lie if he’d ever heard one, but it was getting to his head anyway, dizzying him with arousal and blind flattery alike.

“You’re disgusting,” he breathed on the tail end of a moan.

“You like it,” Ollie returned. He swirled his fingers around the head of Roy’s leaking cock and slicked him up. “I like to hear you moan.”

Just to be contrary, Roy swallowed his next noise and tried to reign himself in enough to finish his game. Ollie just stroked him that much harder, fast enough to make the telltale _schlick_ noises evident past the pinball sound effects.

“Daddy’s so proud of you,” he purred into Roy’s ear, sending a shock of sensation up his spine. _Uh-oh_ , he thought, recognizing the tightness in his gut and frantically trying to tamp it down. _Too fast, too fast._ Ollie wasn’t helping on that front. “Be a big boy and come for daddy, huh? Let him see this perfect little prick shoot. You know what people would give to swallow you down? What they’d do for a work of art like this?”

Roy hated himself, but he let his newly-employed pinball roll into the gutter when he dropped down hard on his elbows, hitting the glass with a _thunk_ and a long, breathy moan. “Christ, I—I’m—”

He couldn’t get the words out before he was cumming, pathetically quickly, on the front of the machine and across Oliver’s knuckles. The hand disappeared when Roy started gasping for air, but the heat of the man’s body didn’t leave. In fact, there was incriminating evidence pressed firmly against the back of Roy’s thigh, and the thought that Ollie was _hard_ from making him cum brought another dizzy spell on.

He felt his pants being tugged lower, just under the swell of his ass, and now that he was bent over he found it in himself to feel at least a little debauched. “Hey,” he protested weakly, “watch where you’re jabbing the arrow.”

Oliver laughed a real, honest laugh, and Roy, damn it all, felt his heart thump harder behind his ribs at the sound. Alcohol-induced though it might have been, laughing wasn’t something he got to hear from him very often. “Tell me something,” the man said once his chuckles tapered off, “you ever have anybody touch you here?” Meaningfully, he slid two fingers down the crack of Roy’s ass, ghosting the tips across his hole like it was a perfectly natural thing to do.

He gasped out a scandalized, “ _No_ ,” that did little to stop Ollie from probing.

“Not even Dick?”

“Of course not.” Roy’s face burned.

“I bet you wanted him to,” Ollie asserted in the low, husky voice from before. By now he was flattened against Roy’s back, pinning him to the machine, which was currently flashing the words INSERT COIN INTO SLOT FOR ANOTHER ROUND in bright, yellow letters. _Oh, fuck you too,_ he thought with a grimace.

Squeezing his eyes closed against the neon propositioning him, he mumbled, “Told you that was none of your business.”

“You can tell daddy anything, remember?” Oliver countered, making Roy’s hips twitch against the metal with a start. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

“Maybe, okay?” he admitted, squirming when Oliver lifted three fingers to his lips and held them there expectantly. “Wait, you’re not seriously—”

“I’ll teach you how to do it right, pretty bird. In case you ever want to try. That’s a father’s job isn’t it? To impart wisdom?”

Roy moaned softly when the fingers pushed past his lips. He could taste himself on the skin, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or if he just liked the attractive groan Ollie gave at the contact. Suddenly the only thought consuming his brain was: _Daddy likes this, he likes you too_ , and no amount of self-hatred could stop him from showing off, sucking animatedly at the fingers as if to drive it home that, _yes_ , he wanted to be taught. _I’ll be a good student, I’ll be a good son._

All too soon those fingers left his mouth with a wet pop, and the thin strand of saliva that followed them out turned Roy on more than it had any right to.

“Here, relax,” Oliver whispered, fondly kissing his hair when he pressed the first finger against him to test the resistance. “Think of it as a muscle-training exercise.”

Roy was _not_ going to think of it like that, but if it made Oliver feel better, he’d play along. “Okay,” he panted, trying not to tense when one finger breached. It was surprisingly easy getting him down to the knuckle, until Ollie had to go and whisper praise about how proud he was and make him involuntarily tense. That meant the second was a little harder, but Oliver assured him by lifting his free hand to smooth Roy’s hair back from his forehead, where he hadn’t even realized it’d begun sticking. “There, there,” he said. “You can do it. You’re my big boy, aren’t you?”

Roy loathed that the words “Yes, daddy,” automatically tumbled from his lips, but Oliver made that heavenly groaning sound again, and maybe he could live with himself if only for that reaction.

The fingers twisted inside him, pulling him apart with practiced ease. He didn’t even recognize the sound of his own voice panting until his lack of breath choked off the moan he made at the pressure of his building orgasm. _Jesus, not again,_ he thought with a sting of embarrassment.

Ollie kept petting one hand over his hair the entire time, encouraging him as he would during training. It was sick how the paternal memories fueled his lust, but when he came for the second time he could feel no more remorse for it. All he knew was this one was better than the first, and Oliver hadn’t even touched his cock. He never bought the idea of “seeing stars” until now, and when he came crashing back down to earth he realized his legs were shaking so badly that Oliver had moved the hand in his hair down to his hip to hold him steady.

“You’re easy to please,” he said with a laugh.

“It’s not like I’ve done this before!” Roy argued in a feeble attempt to win back some of his self-respect. “You can’t just expect—” The last half of his sentence was swallowed by the alarmingly high-pitched keen he made when Oliver worked a third finger inside and kept rocking into him with long, even strokes. “ _Ohhhh,_ god. No more,” he groaned, clenching his hands around the sides of the game. It was a miracle the thing was holding them both, but less of one since the stupid neon INSERT COIN INTO SLOT FOR ANOTHER ROUND kept illuminating right in front of his face. Every time Ollie thrust into him, Roy’s hands knocked uselessly against the flipper buttons, drawing up the horrid command again and again in all its brilliant yellow splendor.

“Ollie,” he muttered, close to whining, “I can’t—you gotta stop.”

Oliver’s weight redistributed itself comfortingly across his back, loosening the ache in his chest from being pressed down for so long. “Shh,” he started, tone made to soothe, “you can do it one more time, Roy. Do it for me. Do it for daddy.” He reached around and kneaded his sac while he spoke, and Roy made a series of grunting sounds he was sure were not very attractive.

“It hurts,” he whined, squirming against the man and the damning pull of hot pleasure he got from each touch. “I already came twice, you jackass. What more do you want?”

Oliver shushed him gently again, running his fingers lightly up and down his cock until it twitched with anticipation. “See? I knew you could.”

Roy couldn’t do much more than pant against the game, letting his breath fog up the glass. He thought about saying something else, even debated begging, when a shock of pleasure coursed through his system and ripped a gasp from his throat. “Ah—ha— _fuck_ ,” he cursed, plunking his forehead down on the glass and clenching a fist into his own hair.

“You know what that is?” Ollie asked gingerly, so unlike his usual domineering voice that Roy felt the need to roll his hips back against the man, as if presenting himself for more when he wasn’t even sure he could take it.

“I’m not twelve,” he huffed. “Yes, I—” Oliver rubbed the pads of his fingers against his prostate to make his point and to take the words out of Roy’s mouth in tandem. “I still _can’t_.” Even as he said it, he could feel his hardness bobbing between his legs, betraying every other one of his senses.

“One more time,” Ollie repeated, smoothing a palm over his thigh lovingly.

“Shut up,” Roy whimpered, hips canting against his better judgement, allowing better access.

“This one’ll be different,” Ollie continued, as if lecturing. Roy could hear the stupid smirk in his voice even past the fog consuming his brain. “It might be dry, but it’ll still feel good. I promise I’ll make it feel good for my boy.”

Roy didn’t know when his tongue started lolling, but he was definitely drooling on the machine and _that_ was not a subtle way to show his enjoyment at all. A chain of “ah” sounds was the best he could manage.

Oliver did the talking for him, anyway. “Good job, keep it up, come on… Want to see you come again, all sweet and laid out for me. Wanna quiet that smart mouth of yours.” His fingers came back to the head of Roy’s cock, collecting the profuse stream of precum leaking from it like a faucet. It should embarrass him when Oliver withdrew his fingers and forced the ones wet with Roy’s slick inside instead, but all it did was make him bounce his hips back more intensely.

The glide was far better than before, especially after the raw probing once the saliva dried. It was all too much at one time, and Roy couldn’t, for all his shattered pride, stop the whimpers from spilling out when he came for a third time. He was shaking so hard that Oliver had to whisper assurances in his ear to talk him through it, until he was literally sobbing against the pinball machine and the man finally, _finally_ let him go.

Roy’s jeans were a mess already, so he didn’t see the harm in slumping to his knees on the dirtied floor, one arm propped against the game’s leg for leverage. Oliver let him sit and regain his breath for a while, then chuckled warmly when he had to physically lift him back to his feet.

“Don’t think I can walk,” Roy muttered tiredly. He looked down to watch Oliver button him back up and sloppily redo his belt. “You’re going to have to carry me, you drunk bastard.”

“I haven’t been drunk since the first time you shot off, brat,” Oliver said with a snort. “You know I only had a few beers, right?”

Surprised, Roy opened his mouth to ask any of the questions buzzing in his skull at that. However, anything he might’ve said to such an unexpected development got swept up in the way Oliver lifted him clean off his feet and carried him, bridal-style, out of the games room.


End file.
